


Weed with Willie

by kadytheredpanda



Category: Spirou et Fantasio
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:10:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1283944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kadytheredpanda/pseuds/kadytheredpanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beer, weed, and a tattoo parlor are never a good combination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: Friday (or what can be remembered of it)

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Weed with Willie  
> Author: LM Simpson (Kady the Red Panda)  
> Pairing(s): Spirou/Seccotine, very implied Zorglub/Champignac , implied Spirou/Fantasio (particularly on Fanta's side)  
> Rating: M  
> Warning(s): drug use, language, sexual content, some crude humor, some OOC  
> Summary: Beer, weed, and a tattoo parlor are never a good combination.  
> Disclaimer: Spirou and Fantasio may be fun for the whole family in official stories, but this isn't an official story and it fucking shows. Dupuis Publishing owns the rights to Spriou and Fantasio (and everyone else that appears in canon). Same goes to anything else that if I mentioned now would be spoiled.  
> Other tidbits: Ever since I was in a hospital in August I've been thinking of what a really (im)mature, Adult Swim-ish Spirou and Fantasio would be like. Then Squirrel-in-a-Toaster made a post on Tumblr about Fantasio mentioning that he had a tattoo of Spip on his ass in one episode (it's the one with the pink sky keeping everyone on an island awake for anyone that has Netflix) and jokingly wondered if the duo had drunken tattoos. This is a response to it.
> 
> Also, in regard to a certain scene here: let's put it this way. Your friend and occasional rival is telling you his butt hurts and he just got out of prison. What is most people going to think immediately of in that context? It's really crude but when you think realistically about the situation...

It seldom happened to him, but just from detecting his mind numbing migraine, lead heavy eyelids, and stark dry throat Spirou knew he was having a hangover, and a particularly horrendous one at that. He groaned, eyes still closed and one hand propped against what felt like a cold concrete wall, and attempted to lift himself up. He wobbled up to his feet for a few seconds before dropping down backwards onto what also felt like cold concrete. His entire back hurt like hell. The sheer pain he felt from his left butt cheek, however, was what made him yelp like a drunken Chihuahua. Spriou wanted to rise up again, yet felt so sick to his stomach he decided it was a better idea to clutch his stomach and make sure that he didn't dry upchuck then get back to his feet.

On the other side of the room he heard Fantasio moan. Only then did he finally open his eyes, if not pry them open with his chilled fingers. After the dizziness and blurriness wore off enough he found his best friend curled up in the fetal position and facing the gray wall in front of him.

Spriou grabbed his face and massaged his aching forehead. "Fantasio, where are we?" He already knew where they were; he only wanted a confirmation from someone else.

"Wha?... I think we're in jail, Spirou."

"Then what are we in jail for?" The raw pain on his (padded?) butt grew too hard to bear by now and he flipped over to his stomach. Spriou retched, but nothing came out.

"Why would I know? Say, is your butt hurting really badly too?"

"You too?"

A clank from where their door was caught their attention. Spirou looked up and Fantasio switched to his other side to see an overweight police officer unlock their cell from a tiny window.

"Okay, everybody out! Somebody's come to get you!"

The men wobbled up, pained buttocks, hangovers, and all. As they weaved out of the cell single file the officer stepped aside. Spirou mustered up enough energy to smile at their picker upper as he clutched his still queasy stomach. Fantasio, meanwhile, groaned not over his nausea but at the blonde wearing gray sweatpants and shirt. Even her usual pristine ponytail was done rather sloppily.

"What the hell are you doing here?!"

"What else?" Seccotine said, grasping Spirou's shoulder and joining him in his walk towards the exit. "I just bailed you two out and bringing you home!"

"Why can't the Count pick us up?" Fantasio asked as he followed them. "And what time is it anyway?"

As she began explaining as they left the jail and towards the parking lot: "Well, it would be rude for Champignac to be having to leave town just to pick you two up from the drunk tank at four in the morning, for one." She yawned before opening the doors to the little black compact car she preferred to use when it was too wet to use her moped. "You're lucky that he called me, because otherwise you would've probably been in there until later today!"

Seccotine assisted an exhausted Spirou into the car. When he sat down on the right side of the backseat, his butt cheek ached again and he squeaked right before lifting it back up slightly above the cold seat.

"What's wrong, Spirou?" She asked.

Spirou rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Nothing, nothing," he said, butt still hovering, "It's just my... behind hurts like hell..."

Seccotine's eyes widened and a hand over her mouth muffled her gasp. "Did you--"

After some confusion it finally clicked in his aching head. "Oh. Oh! No, no, no, it's not that. It's just my butt cheek. It hurts almost as bad as my head..."

A sigh of relief. "Oh, good... Because seeing as how only Fantasio was inside with you, I would've gone and pummeled him to a pulp if it was the other thing I thought it was." A very hungover Fantasio only grunted in protest behind her. She continued, "Then don't just sit down, Spirou! You can lie down! Just don't pop up while I'm driving so I don't get pulled over by the cops!"

"If Spirou's lying down," Fantasio queried, "then where am I going to sit?"

Seccotine turned. "In the front with me, where else?"

"But--"

"Oh come now! You're a big boy! You can take some pain!" After making sure the redhead was a-okay she closed the car door and escorted Fantasio to shotgun. Fantasio eventually got himself comfortable by scooting as far left as he could to leave his right butt cheek free of pressure (even if it did leave him in super close proximity to his rival in the process).

After some driving Spriou found his stomach settling somewhat again. Heavy eyes slowly closed shut again, and his mind began to drift away from thoughts of how groggy he was and how good dreams were coming his way. That was, until Seccotine slammed a foot on the brake pedal so sudden Spirou flopped mostly to the floor.

Seccotine groaned, pinching her nose and not bothering to see how much of the car Spirou and Fantasio spat up vomit over.

"Ugh! Dammit! And I just cleaned this out three days ago!" She whined.

Those were the last words any of the three said until they reached the duo's residence. The two rested on the sofa, Spirou's head on Fantasio's shoulder, with neither giving a damn at that moment dried up, brown chunks of vomit decorated their shirts or that their cheeks, while less sore than earlier, still made sitting down uncomfortable. All they cared about at that moment was for their hangovers to pass over. Spip, happy to see his owners again after they mysteriously disappeared overnight, ran, pounced, and landed into Spirou's lap. The squirrel curled into a ball and was just starting to sleep when the sound of two coffee cups and the obvious scent of coffee came into being.

Seccotine placed two aspirin apiece next to each man's coffee cup and yawned again. "Okay, here's hoping this'll work. If you two want to drink some, I'd do it now before it gets cold..."

The two responded with light snores. The blonde crossed her arms and smiled. They really were cute when they slept peacefully, especially Spirou. Silently she tiptoed towards the carrot top.

"'Hope you feel better soon," she whispered to him. "I'll see ya later..." And with that she lightly kissed his cheek, giggled, and left the house.

1111

By the time Spirou and Fantasio awoke it was just past noon. Fantasio awoke first, immediately detecting a weight on his left shoulder. Obviously, it was Spirou, and Spirou sleeping contently, if the red hair revealed nothing more. The blond attempted to scoot as slowly as possible to let his friend sleep a little bit longer. At least, that was the plan, until his right butt cheek ached again. He jumped up, and with a startle Spirou (with Spip still in lap), landed with a loud plop onto the sofa.

"Oh Spirou, I'm so sorry!"

The redhead groaned, massaging his right temple. Spip lifted a little squirrel fist and squeaked in protest of being awoken so suddenly.

"It's okay..." Then he realized how bright the living room was. "Maybe it's a good thing I wake up right now, anyway..."

The two sipped the coffee, spit it out and gagged from the cold, sludgy mess.

Fantasio winced. "I think it's time to make a new pot."

Spirou only nodded.

While a new pot brewed the two went to their closets for new clothes. Spirou, wearing only boxers, selected a red t-shirt and denim jeans before realizing that now was the best time to see what was wrong with his left buttock.

"Say, Fantasio... Can you come in and see something?"

"What is it?" He could hear from the bathroom next door.

Spirou opened his mouth, only to find himself stumped as to say what he wanted to say politely, and without sounding as silly as possible.

"I think... We should check and see what's wrong with each other's butts." He could feel his cheeks flush and heat up with embarrassment while his friend, already dressed in navy polo and black pants, opened the door to their bedroom.

"I can't believe I forgot all about checking that... Okay, bend over against your bed or something."

And so began the super awkward process of Fantasio stripping his friend's underwear from his ass. His hands shook, incredulous that he was actually fucking doing this of all things, before dropping the boxers down as far as he could.

"What is it?"

"There's a pad or guaze and medical tape over it..."

"Yeah, I can feel it... Can you take it off?"

"Uh... Of course?" At first he pulled the tape slowly, until Spirou squeaked too often that he decided it was just better to rip the pieces off like waxing strips.

Spirou's fourth and last scream faded into Fantasio fighting the urge to snicker after he removed he gauze.

"Wha- what are you laughing at?"

Fantasio was now laughing so hard he turned purple. "Oh god, oh sweet fucking god, that's too funny!"

"What is it?"

He wiped a tear away. "Let me go get a mirror..."

"Fantasio! What is it?!"

Shortly afterward he got his answer.

Spirou's jaw dropped as far as it could. "Is that fucking Charmander?!"

Fantasio began guffawing again. "It looks like a child's drawing, too! You paid money for that?!"

"What the fucking hell! I don't even like Pokemon that much! Come on, take it off! Take off your damn pants! What the hell did you get--Pikachu?"

It was a rodent indeed on Fantasio's ass, but not of the electric rat variety.

"It's Spip!"

"Spip?"

"Yes, Spip! And he's wearing a top hat and carrying a cane! You got a much better artist than me, for sure. It looks just like him!"

"How did we get these tats, though? And why don't we remember getting them?"

"Beats me. Looks like we're going to need to retrace our steps, my old friend."

"Oh wonderful. We have to play detective?"

"Fantasio, what do you remember about last night, if anything?"

He racked his brains. "Well..."

His flashback began when they were downstairs. He adjusted his bow tie in the bathroom mirror before finding Spirou in the living room, playing Solitaire on the coffee room table as Spip watched.

"Say, Spirou, can you come with me to the pub?"

Spirou kept his attention on his card game. "You know I don't drink, Fantasio."

"I know that. I just need you to be my designated driver, that's all."

"I thought you and your drinking buddies carpool."

"Our usual designated driver has the stomach flu."

"And your other friends can--" It wasn't worth arguing. The ginger sighed. "Fine, let me get a coat."

And so not even twenty minutes later they were inside one of the blond's favorite Brussels pubs, the Instanbul, formally known as the Constantinople before the owner got tired of it. Despite the name the decor was not modeled after the famous city but rather festooned with the occasional postcard or Turkish tourist poster. However the beer and spirits were to Fantasio's preferences so he deemed it a favored haunt.

Fantasio, before joining a group of three sci fi geeks that he considered his drinking friends and will never be mentioned again, checked on Spirou again. The redhead set up base at the bar, situated diagonally from the wide screen television where a soccer game was playing, and grabbed a handful of peanuts without moving his face away from the screen. Fantasio smiled. Spirou would be okay.

Spirou would be okay, at that immediate time. In the process of dividing a tower drink with the three others, he turned his head to monitor how his best friend was doing. It was hard to see among the smoke and other pub crawlers, but he could've sworn he saw a tower of beer as well in front of where his friend was.

Oh no...

"Spirou? Spirou!" Dammit Spirou! Why did you try to drink a tower by yourself? You can barely take one drink!

The blond pushed through several men before stopping to see it wasn't Spirou in front of the tower but rather a bodybuilder type in black.

"...Where's my friend?"

"Was he ginger?" The young, brunet bartender asked.

"Yeah..."

"We just kicked him out. He was wasted after one drink. He wouldn't stop freaking out the others with his sobbing and singing some Melissa Etheridge song... Hmm, now what was it again...?"

"You kicked him out because he was crying?! You assholes! What if something was wrong? Oh I hope he's just outside! SPIROU! "

"Oh yeah, it was 'Come to My Window!'" the bartender yelled over the noise before the doors closed.

Out into the busy weekend street Fantasio went. He panicked. Spirou was nowhere to be found. The blond called his friend's name, all the while mentally kicking himself in the balls for ever letting Spirou come with him, for letting him be inside unintended.

He continued his search into a back alley of a fancy hotel. That was then that he heard a pitiful singing voice weakly, faintly mewling:

"Come to my window... Crawl inside, wait by the light of the moon..."

Fantasio looked up. The redhead was above all right. Only because of the lack of stairs, he was now climbing balcony atop balcony...

"Oh, sh--SPIROU!"

Fantasio may not have been as good a climber as his pal, but he caught up in no time. Spirou, nonetheless, reached the top center balcony before he could, as indicated by the metallic clank and thump of a set of feet hitting the bottom, all the while still crooning excerpts from what the lad probably didn't know was actually a really good mainstream lesbian love anthem as he belted out:

"I don't care what they think! What do they know about this love anywaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-"

The balcony door slid open and shut, with whoever was in the room taking Spirou inside with him or her.

Fantasio gasped until his throat rasped. Now he climbed faster than ever, slipping more times he would like to admit, until he reached the same balcony at last.

He frantically knocked on the glass, crying out his buddy's name. "Please! Please!" He also repeated, "Please let me in!"

The door opened once again, this time with an old, gnarly man with chest long hair and cowboy hat greeting the blond.

Fantasio blinked, rubbed his eyes, then blinked some more.

"Are you alright, son?"

The Texas drawl clinched it. This wasn't just some Texas outlaw. This was--

"Willie Nelson?" Spirou said, temporarily interrupting the flashback. "The country singer Willie Nelson? What was he doing in Brussels of all places?"

"Performing? Vacation? I don't know, but regardless, I then asked--"

"Um, excuse me sir... Did you happen to see my friend? Just a tad shorter than me, redhead, red jacket and sweatpants?"

"Him? Oh yeah. He's on the couch right now. 'Found him on the balcony singing a Melissa Etheridge song. 'Come to My Window' to be exact..." Willie said with a chuckle at the end. "Go on, feel at home. Go rest on the couch or however."

It really was a nice suite, with a nice white couch to top it off. He found Spirou lying down, slurring more of the song into a cushion. Instead of sitting down on the couch he sat on an also white chair, next to a white glowing lamp.

"Say," he heard Willie say in another room, "what'd you like to relax with? Beer? Cigarette? Mary Jane?"

"Um, I'll take a cig--" His eyes popped open. "What was the last one again?"

"Mary Jane. Grass, weed, pot, marijuana. Have you ever partaken a toke?"

"No..." Though I wouldn't be surprised if my cousin has... "Is it safe?"

"'Course it's safe! In fact, it's safer than tobacco. Ever heard of medical tobacco? I thought so. The government just made it illegal because the tobacco companies demonized it with all sorts of propaganda. The worst that can happen is that you'll just feel really hungry after smoking it."

"Huh. Okay then, I'll take one."

"I want one too," he heard Spirou say.

"You? Drunk li'l you? Oh no, you can--"

Willie entered the suite den and handed over a rolled up joint to his friend, who now sat up properly. "Now, now... Looks like he's already feeling a little better." After that he handed one to Fantasio. The blond sniffed at the joint, which did smell somewhat like grass, if not boiled peanuts. Seemed harmless enough. Three flicks of a Bic later the three were puffing away. Fantasio giggled a little, drooled a little, ate some Doritos before he closed his eyes...

"Aaand that's all I can remember. Absolutely nothing about the tattoos or anything else until we woke up in the drunk tank."

"Hmm."

"What the hell were you doing drinking anyway? You know you can't tolerate it."

"I just wanted to see if I could now... But that's not important. What's more important is to see which tattoo parlor did we get our sub-tramp stamps." Spriou pulled up his pants and walked downstairs to fresh brewed coffee, the desktop computer and his cell phone, ready for an afternoon of phone call after phone call.


	2. Part Two: Saturday (or at least the first half of it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really did hear about it originally in a magazine.

Courtesy of the phone book and the Internet Spirou located ten tattoo parlors within a 5 kilometer radius. A couple were closed permanently but the remaining four-fifths remained open. Each one received the same inquiries from the redhead (and, when he went for a bathroom break, Fantasio) about whether or not the employees from the graveyard shift recalled working on two men, specifically a redhead and a blond that were most likely blasted out of their minds. It was a no go on each and every one, until, on the third to last...

"Bingo!"

"You found it, Spirou?" Fantasio, on the couch with Spip tugging at his shirt, asked.

He "hushed" his friend before resuming his conversation on the cell phone. "Yes, uh huh... And you have video too?... Oh boy, might as well check that out too... When's the earliest we can come? ...As soon as possible? Okay, thank you. Have a nice day."

A beep signaled the call ended. Spirou glanced at Fantasio. "Would you like to eat right now or after we go?"

"You said that they have video? Like, video of us talking and doing stupid stuff?"

"Most likely."

Fantasio lightly shooed Spip away and walked to the kitchen. "I'm getting the feeling I'm gonna lose my appetite after whatever we see, so I'm eating right now while it's still right here!" He said, pointing at his stomach.

Spirou lifted his pet and scratched behind his ear right as he heard inside the next room: "Hey, um, there's only some promiscutto that's two weeks past the 'best buy' date in the fridge. I smelled it though so I 'think' it's fine. You want some?"

The redhead, still holding the squirrel, only sighed.

2222

Apparently even during Saturdays, not that many people visited tattoo parlors at two PM. Or at least they didn't at the 666 Psychopaths Tattoo Parlor. Perhaps would've been more justifiable if it was Sunday given the name, but alas.

"Are you sure this is it?" An obviously bothered Fantasio asked after the two left their junker of the week.

Spirou double checked with a scrap of paper he placed in his pant pocket. "Yeah, this is it, alright."

True to the name, the parlor's theme colors were black and red. Black and red everywhere: black walls with red trim, black granite welcome desk with white paper and business cards with red lettering and splashes of "blood," posters of Cannibal Corpse and serial killer movies, and flash, or samples of tattoo art only the newbies would select, full of gory pictures, what looked like a real spiked ball and chain hooked to the ceiling above the "exit" sign to their right. Instead of the usual muzak some Norwegian death metal song boomed across the parlor.

Both faced each other with their faces white as bleached flour.

"Yeeeeaaahhh," Fantasio finally said, "we definitely would only pick this place while blitzed out. And leave it to us to pick the most stereotypically momma's nightmare tattoo like parlor in the history of ever to boot of all places! It just needs a devil worshipping altar to complete the look..."

The two heard a toilet flush, followed by an older man with long gray hair in a ponytail, sunglasses and a black tank top and black leather pants walk out of what was most likely the men's room. Down the short black walled corridor he went until he was within a yard of the two. He stunk of cigarette smoke and grime, like he did not shower in the past week, and sported arms inked with all sorts of skulls and bleeding hearts. Instinctly Spirou gulped, whereas Fantasio nervously chuckled.

"I'll take that as a compliment," the man rasped. The grimey man forwarded a dirty fingernailed, chapped hand. Both reluctantly shook it. "I'm the manager or this 'momma's nightmare.' Come with me. The videos are in the break room."

Compared to the rest of the parlor the break room was considerably more cheery, even if it was still decorated with some KISS memorabilia, because at least KISS was more "safe" than Cannibal Corpse in either man's book any day of the week. The two sat on the red loveseat beside a KISS tongue shaped corded phone holder on the desk to Spirou's side.

The manager removed "KISS Meets the Phantom of the Park" from the VHS player and replaced it with one of the prior night's surveillance tapes. He then fast forwarded with his remote all the way to right before the two entered. In fuzzy black and white two blurry, dark haired men were stationed around the check in desk, with one sitting behind it and another looking at a magazine of unknown focus whilst propped against the wall. Then, with a violent swing of the door, the two entered.

"What the fuck?!" The one behind the desk yelled out. "Dude, you could've fucking broken the do--"

"Is the princess in here?" Spirou asked.

"What?"

"Yeah! We're looking for the princess of Monaco! Is she in here?"

"...What? Did you just say--"

"Princess! We'll save you from Donald Duck!" Spirou cried. "I swear it with the bottom of my foot!" He lifted his foot until he wobbled backwards to the linoleum.

They chuckled.

"Foot," Fantasio slowly slurred. "You said foot."

"I think they're high," the other, no longer reading his magazine, said, "let me call the cops."

As the two began looking around slowly and clumsingly, including what appeared to be asking a doorknob where the princess was, the temporary clerk realized the intruders looked familiar.

"Gimme the fucking magazine. Yeah, the one you're reading. I need to see something."

A quick look confirmed it. "Yeah, these two are reporters. I like their shit, man. Better than that fish glue cunt."

"Aren't those three also on the tube?"

"Yeah. Guess it's freelance shit."

"What the fuck is wrong with them, then?"

"Probably got into some of that powerful fuck chronic that's been going around. Do we really have to sic the cops on them? Because what the fuck am I gonna read or watch after they get fired?"

The magazine reader sighed. "Fine. But if they threaten one of us they're dead motherfuckers."

"Hey! You two! We know where the princess is!"

Spirou and Fantasio stopped what they were doing.

"Really?" Both asked.

The clerk/artist said, "Uh... yeah. She's in the dungeon under the building."

Fantasio raised his arm again. "Onto the dungeon, young knave!" He declared, pointing to the ceilng.

"Oh, not yet. You have to cooperate first. How about Guilliame and I give you tattoos and we won't sound the alarm for, ah, Huey, Dewey, and Louie to capture you two?"

The two slowly contemplated it before nodding haphazardly.

"Anything to rescue Princess Grace," Spirou commented.

The clerical one rapped a fist against the granite. "Well then, which one wants to go first?"

Spirou pushed his friend aside and wobbled towards the counter. "Me, me, me!"

"Nice to meet you. 'Name's Alex. I believe your name is Spirou. I'll be your artist today." He grabbed a notepad and pen."Alright, now what do you want?"

"Pudding."

Alex stopped mid-script. "'Cuse me?"

"Pudding. On my hiney."

"Are you fucking shitting me?"

The Spirou on the sofa covered his face as Fantasio laughed hysterically.

"Pudding. I like it. And I want it on my butt."

"Yeah, I get it. You like pudding. I dunno, man. I like pussy but I'm not gonna tattoo it by my junk."

Now Fantasio clutched his sides as he cackled. Spirou slid deeper into his seat, hoping to camoflage into it.

"Pleeease," the Spirou on television whined. "Puuuudding!"

Alex placed a fist under his chin. "Hmm, you don't seem to be the kind to like whatever we have on our flash. How about we look at this pop culture magazine and see what catches your eye?"

Without waiting for an answer he dove under the desk and brought back up another magazine. The two looked over the magazine.

Meanwhile, in the real world, Fantasio's belly splitting laughter (and the promiscutto sandwich) caught up to his gut. It grumbled in a way that signified nothing good was about to happen with his bowels, and he ran off with his hands clutching his abdomen.

"Be right back," he weakly said before running off towards the mens room.

Perhaps coincidentally, the Fantasio caught on tape was going towards the bathroom, assisted by Guilliame, as Spirou and Alex continued browsing page by page.

"Oh look! A talking fishy!" Television Spirou giggled. "I'm seeing one of those! Haha!"

"Really?"

"Yeah, the fish glue girl you were talking about earlier. We're fucking!"

Couch Spirou looked around all angles in the room, including seeing the manager on the free couch leg, snacking on a potato chip with french onion dip before continuing to watch in horror. Thank God Fantasio wasn't in the room at the moment.

"It's a funny story actually," he said, mindlessly flipping pages, "found some ad about some event in an underground magazine that Fantasio has under his bed while I was cleaning under it. I went there and turned out it was some orgy or some shit like that. Found her there 'cause she tends to stick to us like glue or some shit and 'fore you know it we're fucking drunk and fucking each other. We kissed before, but this time, we did more than fucking kiss. We fucking fucked until we couldn't fuck anymore. And we've been fucking each other whenever my friend over there is out of the house ever since. We're like secret fuck buddies or somethin'. Like, we're cool, but journalistic rivalry and shit blows, you know."

"Hmm. I can see. Is she good in bed?"

Couch Spirou mentally prayed that Fantasio would not reenter at the wrong time.

"Ho-ho! Oh yeah! Fan-fucking-tastic! And I found out that this way you can get her to come instantly. What you do is..."

Spirou cupped his ears and shook forward and backward.

"Hail Mary Mother of Grace! Hail Mary! HailMaryhailMaryhailMary..." He reportedly cried until Fantasio returned, nudged the manager to move (but not before grabbing a chip himself) and sat back down on the couch. Spirou still shook, and now bit his fingernails.

"...A shocker? You give her that? Damn, you don't look like the type. You're such a little baby face. Only that other redhead reporter I know of is more of one. Well I'll be damned."

"What did I miss?" Fantasio asked.

The manager began to say something.

"You shut the fuck up!" Spirou yelled, pointing to him. Fantasio glanced at him for a second before facing the screen again, deciding perhaps it was best not to ask.

By now screen Fantasio and Guilliame had returned. If they heard anything they either kept their mouths shut or Fantasio was still hellbent on driving a dagger into Donald Duck's gullet.

"Oh, that dinosaur thing is cute!" Screen Spirou said, "Charmander, right?"

"Yeah, that's Charmander."

"I want that on my butt."

Alex looked at the picture. "It says here that some dude has one on his ass already."

"I want one too. A little Charmander on my tush. I made my decision!"

He sighed. "Better than pudding, I guess. Come into the inking room with me. We'll finish the drawing before getting started. Just to warn you, though, this is my professional fourth tat ever and you look really ticklish..."

Now it was the blasted Fantasio's turn. Guilliame sat in the clerical chair with the pad in hand. "Good evening, er, morning, Mister...?"

"Fanta! Wanna Fanta, don't you wanna?" He laughed hysterically. Couch Fantasio's hand covered cheeks reddened while Spirou snickered.

"Alright... Now what would you like?"

Spirou's promiscutto sandwich decided it was time to disagree with his digestive system. He attempted to ignore it.

"Spirou and me got a pet squirrel. His name's Spip. He's cute."

Fighting now became futile for Spirou. "I'll catch you two in a second," he squeaked, leaving the door open as he ran out.

"Yep, cute like my friend," Fantasio continued, "I want him to wear a groom's hat."

"Like a top hat?"

"Uhhhhh... Yeah, I think Spirou wears that sometimes. At least, I think. Don't quote me on that. Give him a cane too, so he looks classy like me. Spirou may have more manners than me but I still dress better than him. ...You think he's cute too, right?"

"The squirrel?"

"No, Spirou. Cute as a fuckin' button, am I right? Like, I like girls, okay. Spirou, though, makes me bi or some shit. I love him as a brother and as someone that I just want to have as a lifelong partner. Does that make that incest or something?"

"Uh--"

"--Don't answer that. Stupid fucking question. But yeah, anyway. So cute I want to tap that ass. I mean, since he's my friend I'm willing to kill myself trying to save him but jesus what a body. And he's more level headed than me, and sweet, and caring and just a better fucking person than me in general and shit. Damn, I love him!"

"...I can see."

"So Spip? Tattoo Spip's gonna represent Spirou in a way. My closest friend, love him to death and all, but lover wise one I can't get too close to. If I got Spirou that would be too gay. Hell, Spirou means like squirrel somewhere around here or some shit so I guess it's close. So maybe not like Spip I mean I don't want to fuck a squirrel I want to at least kiss him. I mean I want it like fantasy. Fan-tah-see. Got it?"

As Guilliame confusedly nodded, Fantasio looked at the screen totally incredulous. I really said this shit? Outloud? And incoherently to a stranger? Son of a--

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. So, then, before I start sketching it out, how about I know where we're getting this."

" I want my pet Spip with a top hat and a cane on my butt. Opposite cheek of whatever my friend is gettin'."

"You too?"

"Even if we can't ever be lovers or fuck buddies, friends get matching shit if it permits. And by the way? Friends forever, bitch." Fantasio poked Guilliame in the stomach as "bitch" escaped his lips.

As the two entered into Guilliame's office, Spirou returned.

"Well, that was close!" Returning to the couch, he asked, "So what did I ask?"

The manager quit smacking on a potato chip and was about to open his mouth when Fantasio leaped up, pushed him off the couch leg, pounced towards the VCR, ejected the tape without even bothering to be kind enough to rewind, and threw it across the room, where it hit the KISS tongue phone holder. The tongue tipped over, collapsing into the ground with a clunk. The manager glared at Fantasio like he was a rattlesnake ready for the kill.

The blond gulped. "Uh oh."

The phone's dial tone beeped annoyingly as the manager threw the potato chip bag onto the couch and cracked his knuckles in preparation for a beatdown. Fantasio, meanwhile, grabbed Spirou by the arm off the couch. The two ran out of the break room into the bleak and dark tattoo parlor away from the pissed off owner.

"We thank you for helping us out!" Spirou cried as they ran out, sprinted into the past its prime blue Renault convertible, and sped like hell until the manager grew too tired running after them in the street. Which was all fine and dandy until Spirou realized something when they got home.

"Shit! I forgot to ask him what we could do with the tattoos!"

"There's cover ups. Although, I have to ask--how the hell would you cover Charmander to make him not look like Charmander? Cover him with Charmeleon?"

"I don't even want another tattoo anywhere on my body. Tattoo removal will perhaps be best."

"Isn't that expensive? Like, super expensive."

"Hey, if you can go drinking every weekend and buy the occasional sixty four euro bowtie we can definitely get removal at some point. We'll just need to shop around, I guess. Heck, we can even save up if you can avoid doing that crap so often."

"Ha! Not this weekend or next, at least. The Geek Squad and I were going to go back tonight at six. I figure you want to stay home?"

Spirou grunted. "Okay, fine. Fine with me. I need a break from living dangerously anyway."

The two went around their day, which was what normal people did when they weren't on crazy adventures every other week (on the job or otherwise). Why, Spirou was even participating on this rodent pet owner forum that he joined months ago but never posted on until he received a text on his cell phone.

"Oh shit," he said under his breath post-reading it. "Dammit, why does she have to come later today of all times?!"


	3. Part Three: Sunday (or at least after saturday night is covered)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand done. Playing my good luck ending song as I'm typing this. As stupid as this whole fanfic is, I really enjoyed writing it. I have other Adult Swim-ish "Spirou" plots but am unsure if I'll ever type them. Still not sure whether to put this elsewhere on the Internet yet either.

Spirou sat on the couch after Fantasio left, cell phone in hand and yearly planner laid open on the coffee table. He checked that day's date on both devices over and over again. No apps or handwritten scribbles noted that Seccotine was coming by that night, contrary to what her text earlier that afternoon read. At least, the calendar dates, virtual sticky notes, and messages didn't reveal that her arrival was planned in advance and that he simply forgot all about it.

It wasn't that Seccotine herself was visiting that bothered Spirou. Even when her appearance was inconvenient it wasn't completely unwelcome (at least to the redhead). Rather, he was unsure precisely what the nature of the visit was. From past experiences, however, sex was the most likely motive. It wasn't like all their trysts were completely planned; there was that one time when they were both so horny while he was waiting for Fantasio to finish something that they fucked in the second floor supply closet at work, and while a box of to-be shredded papers landed on his head mid thrust after he bumped against something the overall experience was very much worth it. And it wasn't like Spirou exactly wanted to turn down any advances from Seccotine anytime soon.

It was Charmander. It was that damn Charmander and Seccotine seeing it that made him nervous. If she saw his bare ass and sighted that orange dinosaur lizard thing with its tail on fire for some reason on his butt cheek more than his face cheeks would be red from embarrassment. How the hell he could explain the poorly inked pokémon on his butt without her never taking him seriously again was beyond him. Even if they were at the status of sex buddy he didn't exactly want a good thing to end over something like that. He would need to hide it from her, Spirou thought, until the perfectly crafted explanation came to mind. He brainstormed the positions they could use if she did come for a quick hookup that would keep her from seeing the tat, provided he moved fluidly enough to conceal it, until he finally concluded to himself:

"Hmm, unless she breaks out the strap on again I guess I'm fine..."

A furry brown blob hopped onto the planner. Spip and Spirou met eyes, black squirrel ones expressing concern meeting blue human ones showing anxiety.

"Oh, who am I kidding?!" Spirou slumped into the seat, slapped a hand atop his face. "This is Seccotine we're talking about! I'm screwed, Spip! Probably more than one way too!"

Spip cocked his head in confusion. His head then moved in the front door's general direction after the doorbell rang.

Spirou bit his nails. "There she is..."

The squirrel watched Spirou and Seccotine, wearing a zipped up gray hoodie and black pants, enter the living room after a brief interlude. The blonde attempted to touch his owner in any way--a hand on the nearest shoulder, an arm around the chest, both arms on both shoulders--and Spirou flinched away every time. Flat faced he instructed her to sit on the couch, which she complied with in confused and even to Spip, slightly hurt silence, before entering the kitchen. Seccotine picked up and petted the content squirrel and commented how cute he was until Spirou returned with two glasses filled with ice water and handed one to her. When Spirou sat far enough away from her that it was more obvious than ever that he wanted to avoid her, Seccotine finally snapped:

"What is your problem, Spirou?"

He stopped mid-sip. "My problem?"

"Yes! You've been avoiding me the entire five minutes I've been here! What's going on? Is something wrong? I want to know!"

"It's just... I'm not in the mood for any hanky panky tonight." 'Hope she's not angry, he thought as he looked at her, drinking another sip.

Seccotine gave an "are you serious" look before replying, "I didn't even come here for that!"

Spirou's cheeks tingled. "You... didn't?"

"No," she replied, "I was worried sick of you all day! I get a phone call at four in the morning, thinking it's an assignment, only to find out it's Count Champignac asking if I can bail Fantasio and you out of jail. So not only did I have that stress, I came to find you both in the drunk tank looking so sick it was concerning. You could barely sit down, you were that hurt, Spirou. I wanted to see if you were okay!"

"Oh..." He scooted closer to her. Spip jumped to his lap. "Yeah, I'm okay. Or at least, I was after the hangover passed..."

"Well that's good." Seccotine raised a brow. "You really think I just want to have sex with you every time we bump into each other for longer than two minutes? That smarts. I'm still your friend on more than such a shallow level, Spirou. Or, so I thought."

Shit. Now he fucked up. He leaned closer to her. "I'm sorry for being a jackass, Seccotine. I'm serious. It's just... been a... really weird day. Like, really weird. My mind hasn't really been in the right place the whole time, I guess."

WIth his face facing his feet now he missed Seccotine stewing over his words, then nodding. "...I guess you're right. It has been a weird day. Apology accepted."

Well that was much quicker than he thought it would take to get her at that point. He wrapped an arm around her back, faced her again. "I'm really sorry. Really."

Now he sounded like a reallly guilty child. She laughed. "No problem Sp-Oh!"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just... Thanks for reminding me Spirou!"

He slightly loosened his grip. "Reminding you of what?"

"Speaking of asses, I wanted to know what was wrong with yours! That was part of the reason I came! I wanted to know what happened!"

Spirou let go and began scooting. Spip scurried away in frustration.

"Is it something bad?"

"Uh..." He continued scooting to the other end. "Can I not answer that, please?"

She began scooting too. "No! I want to know!"

Spirou jumped away from the couch, tripped on the coffee table, and moved behind that. "I'd really rather you not."

"Oh come on! You're blushing! Now I'm really quite intrigued!"

Spirou ran upstairs; Seccotine followed. Amazingly, he didn't trip, and she didn't as well... until he finally fell flat on his face right past his bedroom. Feminine fingers wrapped around his ankles, dragged him into his bedroom.

Even as his dragging fingers passed by the door he pleaded "Seccotine, no!"

She paused, not bothering to let go. "Let me ponder this... No, I better not." She continued dragging him. "Quit acting like a baby. It may not even be as embarrassing as you think it is!"

"You quit!"

"Too late!" She said, stopping right by his bed. She dropped his feet with a grunt and rested her rump on his back after shoving him back over.

"Y'know, if it's something you could pass on, then it's my problem too, don'tcha think? I have a right to know these things."

"I'm pretty sure they used a clean needle," he grunted under her.

"Who's 'they?'"

Seccotine wasn't crushing him, but he certainly did want her sitting square on his back. "The tattoo artists!" He yelled, exasperated.

"Ah, so it's a tattoo?" She laughed once. "What's so bad about a tattoo?"

"There's one on my ass, that's why!"

Once again she replied, " May I please see?" and dove her hands onto his waistband. " I'm sure it's not as awful as you think it is!"

It was no use arguing any further with her about the manner. If she wanted to see, Seccotine was going to see. Frustrated, Spirou sighed. "Okay, okay! You can see!"

Spirou's heart dropped when she finally exposed his backside and laughed.

"Charmander? So cute! Albeit it is a bit crude..."

"It's horrible, I know!" Spirou shoved his face against the wooden floor.

Instead of laughing Seccotine now sighed. "I'm sorry Spirou, but I couldn't help but laugh. The only thing that would've been funnier or more random is if it was Spip on your ass, no offense."

If it wasn't for Seccotine sitting on him Spirou would've covered his hot face with a palm. "I just want this stupid thing gone. I was drunk."

"Of course. You were in the drunk tank, where the drunks go."

"And I smoked weed with Willie Nelson!"

Seccotine was now perplexed, wondering if Spirou was beginning to bullshit her. "Willie Nelson?"

"Don't ask me why! Fantasio told me! I don't remember a damn thing about it. All I know for sure is that I was stoned out of my mind when I got this thing. Even if I wanted a tattoo I wouldn't want that. You know what's the real kicker? I can't even afford to get rid of it! It's probably going to be here forever!"

After some silence, where Spirou fought his hardest not to cry out of frustration, Seccotine rose up. She stooped down to her knees and clasped a hand on his cheek after he readjusted to sitting Indian style on the floor.

"Now I'm sorry, Spirou for laughing. I'm really sorry. Really."

Even if it was copying him, Spirou supposed it was supposed to make him laugh. "No, you should. It's a stupid tattoo."

"Still better than a dick on the forehead, I suppose."

Spirou huffed a single "ha." "Yeah, I suppose you're right. At least I can cover Charmander up for work."

"Chaaaar,"

Spirou attempted to keep a straight face, but failed. "Did you have to do that?" He said between laughs.

"I guess so? It made you laugh." Seccotine let go of his cheek and kissed it. "So, all jackassing aside, how do you want me to make up for causing all your teenage-like angst?"

"Well..." He snaked an arm around her waist, dropped the hand lower. "There's a small box of condoms in the bathroom down the hall..."

"Alright!" Seccotine gave him bedroom eyes, flicked a finger under his chin. "So, should we use your bed or should we get drunk and see where we end up?"

3333

"Spirou, you left a used condom between our beds last night," Fantasio said, preparing a cup of coffee in the kitchen while Spirou attempted to pay attention to the morning news. "I wound up stepping on it with my bare feet."

Fuck, he thought. "Sorry about that, Fantasio. I'll pick it up after the news is over."

"Too late!" Fantasio sat down next to him, shuddering. He faced the TV, coffee cup brim towards his lips. "So what's being going on in our lovely city?"

Spirou never opened his mouth, as the next item caught both their interest. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.

"In other news," the female newscaster said, "a local man was arrested last night for cultivation and distribution of a potent strain of marijuana so-dubbed Angel of Death, in that the already THC loaded plant was tainted with high levels of PCP."

Surveillance videos of various men and the occasional woman destroying property, finding themselves of fights to the death, or experiencing delusions like Spirou and Fantasio had played on the television as the newscaster droned on. Neither man sighted footage of their escapade; perhaps Fantasio did destroy it in his little hissy fit the day before, assuming any of the other reporters or police visited the tattoo parlor. Well that was good. At least their jobs weren't in jeopardy... yet.

Fantasio choked on his coffee when the suspect's photo was shown. "Is that--"

"The suspect has been identified as a career criminal only known as Zantafio," the newscaster said. A mugshot of what was unmistakingly his cousin situated itself in the upper right corner of the screen, before transitioning to a video of an uncooperative Zantafio in handcuffs inbetween two cops.

"Hey!" He yelled at the cameraman, "turn that damn camera off!" Not even a second of warning later, he screamed "I said, turn the [explective obscured for broadcast] camera off!", pushed himself forward away from the cops, and dashed towards the now backstepping cameraman. One of the policemen bonked him on the head with a club, and another spritzed his face with pepper spray before taking him away at the end of the clip.

"That's him, alright," Fantasio declared.

"I have to say, you can't really surprised that he would be the kind of person to do this," Spirou said, fists under his chin.

"American singer Willie Nelson, who was vacationing in Brussels, was a victim as well," the newscaster replied, "saying in a released statement that while he himself was not affected by the drug's harmful side effects other members of his entourage and others he smoked with indeed were."

A transcript of what the singer further stated played on the screen, mostly stating that this is why marijuana had to be legalized, taxed, and heavily regulated.

"Yadda, yadda, yadda..." Fantasio blabbed over the latter part of it, until the phone beside the loveseat rang.

"Should I get that?" Spirou asked.

His friend leaned over for the remote and set the television to mute. "Be my guest."

Very shortly after they found out who would be calling at six in the morning.

"Hello? Ah! Good morning, Mister Champignac! May I ask why you're calling at this hour?"

Fantasio could hear Champignac speak enthusiastically and swiftly on the other end, however garbled and faded enough from the distance that he couldn't tell exact what the older man was telling Spirou.

"Yes... How did you know about my tattoo? ...Seccotine told you?" Spirou sighed. "Yes, I told her about it..."

"Seccotine?" Fantasio hissed. "You told Seccotine--"

Spirou raised a finger, signalizing he'll explain in a second. "You can remove the tattoos? How--? Oh. Alright then. ...Sure, we'll see you this afternoon. Anything to get rid of them as soon as possible...Mm-hmm, thank you, sir."

The phone docked, Fantasio resumed:

"What the hell were you thinking tellling Seccotine?"

"Hey, she wanted to know if we were alright after yesterday morning. Don't worry, I didn't tell her about your tattoo."

"You better not be pulling my leg," he responded before taking a sip.

"She did ask about you, though."

Fantasio's face wrinkled. "Yeah? And what did she say?"

"She wondered if you were sick or dying because she didn't hear you bellyaching that I was talking to her, er, over the phone."

A scoff. "Typical..."

3333

Several hours later, shortly after arriving at the count's mansion, Spirou found himself strapped to a cold metallic surgical table in a heavily dimmed room on the second floor. For whatever reason, he was nude from the waist down, wearing the sort of lead bib one has to wear when taking an x-ray and with his ass up in the air like he was about to be taken in a special interest porn film, and his arms held straight in front of him, yet secured by black belts. His spread legs attempted to move, but could only minimally wiggle due to the restraints around his ankles. He needed to scratch his chilly ass, but alas was unable.

"Please tell me how this thing Zorglub is bringing in came to existence again," he asked Champignac.

"Perhaps it's better for him to explain, but during this very brief period in university he seemed dedicated not only to his scientific studies but also receive the perfect tattoo. Zorglub never did give me a proper explanation; only answered that it felt like something he needed to do at that time and place. He couldn't figure out where to place it and versus simply drawing and cutting out a doodle and placing it on different parts of his body to test it out, he decided to physically ink it and remove it with the machine we're about to use today if he didn't like the placement." Pacome scratched his chin. " If memory serves me right, he stopped using it because all of his hair started falling out..."

Spirou's eyes widened. A door opened and shut behind him, with a squeaking wheeled contraption accompanying whoever entered.

Both Spirou and Champignac sniffed heavily at the air, which smelled like burnt barbeque and fish sticks.

A grunt from neither man filled the room. "Yes, yes, continue emphasizing that yes, the great Zorglub did accidentally burn himself while testing if this antiquity is still operational with that infernal whiffing."

"My apologies, Zorglub," said the count, before the other scooted the cart containing an old machine the size of a washing machine and dryer stacked atop each other in front of the redhead. From somewhere atop the thing a rod lowered, and the mad scientist extended the tip towards just above the Charmander tattoo. Everyone kept silent as Zorglub continued for another five minutes or so setting up the thing, including leaving momentarily to grab a circa 1980s portable computer, discovering to its annoyance that the damn thing no longer worked, leaving to borrow a more modern laptop (most likely Fantasio's, as he came in to protest something before Zorglub asked--more so commanded--Pacome to shoo him away), and covering Spirou's legs with another lead apron. Finally, it was time to use it. As a final preparatory step Zorglub plugged it in, received a shock on the same hand that received the burn, and yelped.

"Blast it, Pacome! Summon someone to check your wires before it kills either of us!"

"How sweet! You're concerned about me!"

Zorglub grumbled something.

The longer and more absurd the whole situation became, the more uncomfortable Spirou became, and not just because he really needed to scratch all over Charmander. Then again, if it wasn't for that dinosaur he would not had been in Champignac in the first place that day.

"Are you positive this will work, Zorglub?" He queried.

"Why, yes, yes, of course," he replied, covering Spirou's eyes with lab goggles. "I'd be a fool to use something I knew would not be effective."

After Zorglub and the count put on their own goggles, he levitated his head above Spirou's. "I may as well be as ethical as I can be in this situation. Just to warn you of potential side effects, of the petty criminals and sailors I tested and utilized this apparatus on along with myself, half of them claimed they were rendered sterile."

Spirou's mind took a second to process what he just said. "What in the fuck do you mean, rendered st--"

Too late. Zorglub's swift keyboard clacking swiftly became replaced with an increasingly loud hum, which in turn became a loud boom and then a sizzling sound as a bright light engulfed the room.

Zorglub stood beside his old friend, both witnessing what was now a laser beginning to burn the fire Pokemon off the redhead's ass. Spirou, having only mild painkillers given to him beforehand, yelped and cursed repeatedly, loudly enough to obscure the two men's words from his ears. The younger one of the two tsk'd, arms crossed, back leaning against the wall.

"A tattoo on the posterior, how crass. Children these days. Of all the places I schemed of wearing that mushroom that was the one place besides by the family jewels that I did not even bother attempting."

"Well, if it'll make you feel better, Zorglub, I thought the very same thing with that 'Z' I was going to wear."

"You're a good friend," he said with a poker face but with a rare more positive energy in his voice.

Apart from the sizzling and Spirou's cursing the two were silent until Pacome finally said:

"You said that that machine rendered people sterile?"

Zorglub chuckled. "Complete hogwash. I only used this device on myself. I just thought saying it to spook him was funny, is all. The worst that will happen is that his pubic hair may fall off if we leave it on too long."

...

About half an hour later Spirou was no longer lying on a table, but rather on a couch with a towel shielding his shame from the old fabric and a frozen vegetable medley bag covering where his tattoo used to be. His groans and moans that he was gonna need to make an appointment with the urologist regarding his sperm count flittered about the hallway and into the open operation room. Fantasio undressed, set his pants, underwear, and belt aside and hopped onto the cold metal table stomach first. He scratched a much needed attention to itch just above Spip before the count strapped his arms and ankles.

Zorglub, meanwhile, prepared to set the machine back to operational state again. "Pacome, please plug the machine in," he said, taking a sip of raspberry liqueur from a goblet.

"Why did you unplug it?" He answered, walking towards the outlet, "I have enough money to pay the bills."

"The wires, Pacome, the wires," he only responded, typing in Fantasio's log-in password ("swordfish") on the laptop.

"What's with you and the electricity?" Fantasio asked, tense over the silver rod raised above him.

Moving away from the computer for a second, Zorglub glared at him. "Do not challenge what I know about this situation."

Fantasio shrugged the best he could. "Okay. Whatever you say."

Zorglub lithely punched in any information he needed for the laser to obliterate the dressed up squirrel on the blond's behind in the most accurate way possible for a decades old machine when he blindly reached for the liqueur beside him, only to spill the goblet all over the table, laptop, and the unstable contraption. Smoke, sparks, and swears popped up all over the table. The count frantically unlocked Fantasio as Zorglub zipped over to the plug, removed it, and shocked himself until his hair stood up.

"The wires, Pacome!"

"The liquid, Zorglub!"

"What about my tattoo?!" Fantasio yelled while grabbing his underwear. Then he sighed. That wasn't his main concern. "What about my lapt--"

The machine and laptop, meanwhile, both broke down and exploded in a great violation of physics and general science.

"Noooo! Not Candice!" Only in a shirt and boxers he ran to his goner laptop. He received an aftershock while picking it up and cradling it like a dead baby.

Zorglub bonked his head against the wall. Champignac stared at Zorglub, then Fantasio, then back at Zorglub still bonkin' his noggin, before sighing.

"You know what? I'll go check on Spirou right now..."

3333

After a period of cleanup and rest (at least for Spirou), the count drove him, Spirou, and Fantasio back to the duo's residence in their clunker convertible. Fantasio, still mourning over Candice and still cradling "her," left the front seat. Spirou, meanwhile, clutched another bag of frozen vegetables, this time corn, over his soggy pants. Champignac wrapped an arm around Spirou's waist and helped him up to front door, where the trio found a mysterious little package on the doorstep.

"That better not be dog crap or a bomb," Fantasio stated only a second before picking it up. "Well, it's addressed to Spirou and me, 'from a friend.'"

"I wonder who it's from," Spirou said.

All three men found out the answer when Spirou laid out on the loveseat, the count on an armchair by a bookcase, and Fantasio standing up, opening the package on the coffee table beside his late laptop. Atop was a letter, promptly opened.

"Dear Spirou and Fantasio," Fantasio narrated, "Before I had to go 'On the Road Again' I felt I needed to contact you two. Please don't ask how I found out where you lived. I apologize for any and all trouble caused by your smoking Angel of Death because I provided it to y'all. I asked a bodyguard to purchase it for me while I was performing for orphans and was unaware at the time. Anyway, you two sound like amazing people and it was nice spending time with y'all. If...--" he sped over the next two sentences as fast as possible after he began skimming"--youareevermarryingiwouldliketoperformatyourpartybecauseiknowyoutwoareperfectforeachother. Sameifyoumarryotherpeople. Please take this token of gratitude that I personally inspected myself before leaving Belgium. Take care and God bless, Willie Nelson."

"So, what's in the box, Fantasio?" Champignac asked.

"Knowing Willie, it's..." The blond fished out a small baggie filled with--

"Leaping lily pads! Is that what I think that is?"

"So this is pot without PCP?"Spirou asked. "Maybe it will help with this pain on my butt."

"Well my good buddy," Fantasio stated, opening the ziploc bag, "there's only one way to find out..."

3333

At eight o' clock the next morning Seccotine entered, courtesy of an expired credit card, to see why Spirou and Fantasio didn't report for work and they didn't return her calls. Aside from the faint but lingering smell of boiled peanuts and burnt grass, she found the living room cluttered with empty food containers to her disgust, the TV on set to music videos, and Spirou, Fantasio, and Count Champignac scattered all about on the floor, except for Spirou on the loveseat. Three sets of snores indicated they were all alive, thank God.

"Of all the days they chose Sunday night to get stoned," Seccotine said with disapproval.

Since he was the closest, she gently shook Spirou awake. He sported the expected bloodshot eyes, drool on his chin, and what looked like potato chip crumbs circling his mouth, along with something else...

"What's wrong Sec?" He slurred.

Without saying anything she rubbed the dick and balls on his forehead.

"Oh good, it's washable this time," was all she said about it.

THE END


End file.
